one time i woke up alone
and it was cold-
                          -er than ice
the air
held its breath
and my own
suffocated
          as it escaped
          frozen lips

s i l e n t

i woke up with
the inside of my head
and the outside of my heart
        s
           p
        i
           l
              l
           i
         n
          g
                         out
onto the hard cot and
it was like
                          i was screaming

silent w h i t e screams
in my misery

alone.

but then someone came
with a warm blanket
     wrapped it around me
     gave me a warm mug of
     tea
and also

a black
box

so i threw everything away
and the box was
          heavy, but i
             haven't seen it since

       i wrapped myself tighter
       under the blankets
   retreated back
with my
steaming tea
and i couldn't see anyone
      but

i could feel
       His gentle stroke on my cheek
                        as i breathed
                 softly
           back
       to
sleep

he doesn't know it
but when i lay in his bed
my mind is stringing together
adjectives and airy phrases,
trying unsuccessfully to
pin down the emotions
he breathes into me.

he doesn't know it
but when i kiss his skin,
i imagine my lips
peppering his chest
neck and arms with
ink stains that morph
into words like "lover"
and "darling".

he doesn't know it
but the smile he shares
with me under the covers
is pressed firmly
into the corners
of my heart,
begging to be immortalized
in words.

I woke up feeling empty,

and I spent the whole day trying to find what was missing

1251

Silence is all we dread.
There’s Ransom in a Voice—
But Silence is Infinity.
Himself have not a face.

Two girls there are : within the house
One sits; the other, without.
Daylong a duet of shade and light
Plays between these.

In her dark wainscoted room
The first works problems on
A mathematical machine.
Dry ticks mark time

As she calculates each sum.
At this barren enterprise
Rat-shrewd go her squint eyes,
Root-pale her meager frame.

Bronzed as earth, the second lies,
Hearing ticks blown gold
Like pollen on bright air. Lulled
Near a bed of poppies,

She sees how their red silk flare
Of petaled blood
Burns open to the sun's blade.
On that green alter

Freely become sun's bride, the latter
Grows quick with seed.
Grass-couched in her labor's pride,
She bears a king. Turned bitter

And sallow as any lemon,
The other, wry ****** to the last,
Goes graveward with flesh laid waste,
Worm-husbanded, yet no woman.